


It wasn't love like in a song

by Moonmoth



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Borussia Dortmund, Bundesliga, M/M, hubotic, kinderriegel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6568933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonmoth/pseuds/Moonmoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krasnodar, November 2015. Dortmund loses. Mats played badly and is looking for comfort</p>
            </blockquote>





	It wasn't love like in a song

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Es war nicht Liebe wie in einem Lied](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6568915) by [Moonmoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonmoth/pseuds/Moonmoth). 



> _It wasn’t love like in a song,_
> 
> _and what they felt was rarely happiness._
> 
> _Only when the door is locked do you return_
> 
> _to those brief, fleetingly lived hours_
> 
> _when we want to say: I love you,_
> 
> _and remain silent, for fear of the wounds._

> _Wolf Wondratschek_

 

Krasnodar, 26th November 2015

 

Blackness surges against the window of the team bus from outside, interspersed with occasional lights. Krasnodar. Another one of those hundreds of cities you won’t see anything of except airport, hotel and stadium.

Dortmund lost, because of you, because you caused a penalty. The only goal of the match. It‘s jinxed lately, everything you touch turns to shit. What the others went through as a team last season, you now get to repeat alone. You could do very well without that. Trying to explain anything is pointless, your words are twisted until they make a sufficiently scandalous headline. And when you remain silent, they hold that silence against you.

You turn around and see Neven sitting in the back row. That has always been his regular seat, but these last couple of months, it looks quite different that he’s sitting back there. If he’s on the bus at all. You don’t know what he’s supposed to have done that he gets so completely side-lined. You once respectfully inquired, and were told politely but firmly it weren’t your job to worry about the line-up.

Neven trains diligently and remains silent. And maybe the others think that all is well and he is resigned to this role. But you know him. He will just as silently pack up and leave without saying goodbye. The thought scares you.

Things aren’t between you as they used to be, when you hugged on the pitch and he held you tight. It’s your fault he doesn’t do that anymore, you were afraid people might see you’re more that colleagues. You didn’t want any disorder in your life, also Cathy couldn’t stand him. She never knew any details, but she suspected enough to be jealous.

The bus stops outside the hotel and everyone gets out. The mood is subdued. You shiver, even though it’s warmer here than in Germany. Neven walks beside Manni; they probably share a room. You walk a bit behind them and stare at Neven’s hair curling above his collar. He was so happy yesterday morning; you hadn’t seen him smile like that in a long time, although you don’t know what was so amusing about him being half an hour late at the airport.

Now he seems to have withdrawn into himself completely.

Inside, you keep following them instead of going to your own room. You don’t know exactly what you want, you only feel that your chest is so tight you can’t breathe properly, and suddenly you're convinced Neven could make it go away. Just before they disappear into their room, you manage to croak his name.

"Neven?"

He looks up in surprise and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Sure." He stops outside the door and looks at you expectantly.

"In my room, perhaps?" you ask and vaguely point over your shoulder with your thumb.

This is clearly unexpected for him. "OK, but let me put down my things first."

He disappears into the room, you hear rustling and how he says to Manni: "I'm just off again."

Then he’s standing next to you again. You walk silently beside each other, your steps muffled by the carpet, one floor up, then down the hall to your room. You’ve probably walked a few hundred kilometres in hotel corridors, not a few of them together.

You unlock the door, switch on the light and ask him in. As the captain you’re allowed to have a room of your own. You close the door and look at him and then you don’t know what to do. You want him to make this strange feeling go away, but you don’t know how. His face can be so expressive, but when he doesn’t want you to know how he feels it’s like stone, and that’s the way he’s looking at you right now.

You’ve always counted on him wanting you, always let yourself be seduced, maybe so that you could blame him. Now he’s looking at you with that stony face and not moving an inch. It’s impossible he doesn’t know why you asked him here, but he's so damn proud.

You’d been avoiding him since the wedding. He didn’t say anything to that, but you of all people should have known that doesn’t mean much with him.

You step close in front of him and kiss him. His lips a very soft. He doesn’t fight it, but he doesn’t do anything else either.

“Neven…” It’s supposed to sound reproachful but comes out desperate. You bite his lower lip, just to get a reaction. 

“You’re such an asshole, Mats,” he says, pushing a hand into your hair at your nape and roughly angling your head to the side, forcing his tongue into your mouth. His other hand pulls you closer to his body by the hip.

You put your hands around his waist and press the two of you closer together, push your fingers under his hoodie, greedy for his bare skin. You’ve probably earned his anger, but you can’t stop. There’s nothing else that feels like this, his muscles under your hands, his scent in your nostrils, his taste in your mouth, everything so huge and crackling and alive.

He pays you back in kind and bites your lower lip, it hurts just enough that your nerve endings are on fire. When he gently runs his tongue over it afterwards, your knees get so weak you’re glad he’s holding you.

You run your fingers through his long curls but your wedding ring gets caught in them. He grimaces, grabs your wrist and roughly pulls the ring from your finger. You hear a muffled sound when it hits the carpet.

There’s so much in Neven’s eyes: Defiance, challenge, and a vulnerability that isn’t new but that you like to forget.

He takes off his hoodie and drops it to the floor, puts his warm hands around your face and kisses you. Kisses you like someone who’s just made a decision. His hands slide lower, over your neck, your back, to the hem of your sweatshirt. That move when he takes it off you feels incredibly familiar.

You hug him close, and the feeling of his bare skin on yours makes you sigh. You kiss his cheek, his earlobe, his neck while you draw patterns on his back with your fingertips. For a moment he just holds still, and you know he has his eyes closed even though you can’t see it. Then he runs his hands down your back, pushes them under the waistband of your sweatpants and grabs your ass, pressing his hard cock against yours and moaning in your ear. “Did you bring anything?”

“I don’t think so, I’ll have a look.” You wriggle out of his arms, rummage through your bag and hold up a bottle of body lotion. He raises a sceptical eyebrow.

“Better than nothing,” you say.

He shrugs, takes the bottle from your hands and places it on the nightstand. You sit down next to each other on the bed to take off your shoes and socks, and you laugh quietly to yourself.

“What’s so funny,” he asks.

“Apparently no one has found a way yet to make taking off your socks look sexy.”

“You definitely have to do it early. Before the trousers. Otherwise you’ll be a naked man in socks.”

You laugh together, and for a moment you’re twenty again, sitting next to each other in the dressing room making silly jokes, and everything is easy between you.

He gets up, barefoot now, stands right in front of you, and starts slowly pushing down the waistband of his sweatpants, baring his happy trail and the V of muscles pointing downwards from his hips. “Sexy enough for you?” His voice is deep and husky.

Your mouth is so dry you can only nod mutely. Your gaze moves upwards, lingers for a moment on his broad chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing, then you look straight into each other’s eyes. He looks at you for a couple of seconds, then he slips his sweatpants from his hips with one swift movement and pushes you down on the bed, grabs the waistband of yours and undresses you, too.

The next moment he’s on top of you and his tongue in your mouth and his hands everywhere. For a few minutes you simply enjoy this heavy, hard male body pushing you into the mattress. Then you wrap your legs around him and roll the two of you over until you sit on top of him. You look into is grey eyes, stormy like the North Sea in rough weather. He puts a hand on your cheek, stroking his thumb over your lower lip, then pushing it into your mouth and caressing your tongue. “Your lips are simply…”

“Simply what?”

He just shakes his head. For a moment he smiles the incomparable, radiant Neven smile. You always want to be the reason for that smile, usually you're the opposite.

You bend down and kiss his smiling lips, then let your own roam over his chest and suck one of his nipples between your teeth, bite down a bit and hear how he holds his breath. You let go, lick over the nipple and blow over the damp spot. A shiver runs over his skin.

Your lips roam to the other side, your tongue swirls around the nipple before you suck on it hard until he throws his head back and digs his fingers into the sheet, his breathing fast and shallow.

You let go and he rolls you over again, then he’s suddenly gone and immediately you feel cold. You close your eyes and wait and all your nerve endings tingle with longing. The mattress dips down when he kneels between your legs. A crack when he snaps the lid of the body lotion open. Then everything else sinks away besides the feeling of his cool fingers inside you.

You feel him above you again and blink upwards. The muscles in his left arm stand out because all his weight is resting on it, with his right hand he’s bringing his cock into position. When he pushes into you, you realize body lotion is not the same as lubricant and bite your lower lip.

Neven looks at you with concern. “Hurts?”

“Don’t stop…”

He doesn’t move, lowers himself onto you, propping himself on his elbows and kissing you. After a few moments the pain subsides, and together with the pain the tension that has been building for weeks leaves your body. Even with more than eighty kilograms of Neven on top of you, you can breathe as freely as you haven’t in a long time.

You put your hands on his hips and hold him to yourself. "I missed you."

"Liar," he murmurs against your lips and kisses you again before you can respond. Why should he believe you. You know he looks at you sometimes and he can’t believe you're the guy who once gave him a blowjob in his GTR while he was driving. Now you’re thinking about children. On the one hand. On the other hand, whenever you’re with him, you feel such an incredible hunger for a wild life.

"Wild life?" He laughs, you've probably said that out loud.

You avoid an answer by kissing him, long and thoroughly, until he starts moving cautiously, and suddenly it feels perfect. He slides a hand into your hair, holding you tight, and pushes deeper when deeper is almost impossible. He’s still moving gently, rubbing his abs, his happy trail over your cock.

“I won’t break…”

“OK, turn around then.”

You roll over onto your stomach and Neven shoves a pillow under your hips. You want to touch your cock, but he grabs your hands and holds them firmly behind your back. "Not yet."

He wraps something around your wrists, probably the hair band he always wears on his arm. Seconds later, he’s back inside you. He holds you by your neck with one hand, props himself up on the other, and then he doesn’t hold himself back any more. It’s as deep and hard and merciless as in the dreams you always only half admit to yourself. You’re defenceless and at his mercy and you feel free.

For a wonderful few minutes, you don’t have to be a captain, or a world-class defender, or a perfect husband. For a few precious moments you don’t have to be Mats Hummels. There’s only this man behind you on top of you inside you who has always known who you really are.

He is velvet stretched over steel, intense and overwhelming, driving you towards a point where the pressure becomes almost unbearable. “Neven, please…”

He frees your hands so you can finally touch yourself, and you come almost immediately. A few seconds later he pushes deep into you one last time and then also comes with a suppressed groan. He drops onto the mattress beside you.

It takes a while until the two of you catch your breath. Neven sits up and starts fishing for something with his foot from the edge of the bed, probably his underpants, you can’t see much more than his broad back. You catch his wrist. “Stay.”

He looks at you over his shoulder. You slip under the covers and hold them up invitingly. A half-smile, a soft sigh, then he lays down beside you again. You turn your back to him, grab his hand, pull it to your chest and hold it there. The mattress rocks slightly when he moves closer, then you feel his bare skin on your back. The tip of his nose brushes over your neck, followed by his lips. You draw up your knees and he curls even closer around you, skin to skin from head to toe. You lie very still, and after a few moments the two of you breathe in the same rhythm. You feel his chest rising and falling along with yours, and then your boundaries blur and you don’t know any more where your body ends and his begins.

***

When you wake up, he’s moved away a bit, but at least he’s still there. He sleeps, and you’re always so incredibly touched by how vulnerable he looks then. You don’t know why you feel so responsible for him.

‘I love you’ never made it past your lips, and you thought you were off the hook, but it’s not that simple when you keep burning it into his skin with your fingertips instead, over and over.

Your knee is sending messages when you get up to dress. Then you go looking for your wedding ring. You can’t find it and have to crawl across the room on all fours, no matter what the knee says. You see the ring flashing beside a chair leg and pick it up. The metal feels cold in your hand.

The bed creaks softly when you drop onto it again. You look at the ring in your hand, then at Neven, and put the ring in your pocket.

You’ve made too many promises that are mutually exclusive. It’s not always words. A kiss can be a vow.

Neven sighs and blinks and feels for you, still half asleep. Smiles when he finds your hand. A few seconds of happiness.


End file.
